


The Galaxy Beneath Us

by sheridesthelion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Human, Isaac is a puppy, M/M, Slow Build, cross dressing, music prodigy!derek, not a girl!stiles, sort of like she's the man meets crack, stiles dresses as a girl, teacher!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheridesthelion/pseuds/sheridesthelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles now knew exactly what he was going to do and the only foreseeable outcome was one with a lot of waxing and a lot of humiliation.</p>
<p>Amanda Bynes was the worst.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Stiles goes to an all girls school in order to woo Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any recognizable characters belong to Jeff Davis. This fic isn't really supposed to be taken seriously. Any gender stereotype references are purely for fun not meant to be taken offensively. I write a lot of this at two in the morning.

The universe must hate him. Like seriously, seriously hate him. There wasn’t much Stiles could do besides open and close him mouth a dozen times as he stared at the acceptance letter in his hand, wondering what it was that he did to make the universe hate him so very much. This was good. It was supposed to be good. If it wasn’t for one tiny, minute detail, he’d be running around the living room fist bumping a million angels. Instead, he was trying in vain to comprehend what exactly just happened. 

He was holding a piece of paper. No, not paper. It was some sort of fancy paper laced with fabric that makes it feel almost velvety beneath his fingers. Tucked under his arm is a large packet, maroon with silver lettering sprawled over the front. It’s a thick packet, full of lists, brochures, paperwork that needed to be filled out and mailed back. If he even bothered sending it back. Because this was not how things were supposed to go. Not even close.

Dear Miss Stilinski,

Congratulations! It is my pleasure to inform you of your admission to Beacon Hills Academy for Girls for this coming school year. We are delighted to welcome you a member a member of the class of 2015!

Sincerely,   
A. Deucalion  
Headmaster  
Beacon Hills Academy for Girls

 

Academy for Girls.

Girls.

Miss Stilinski.

Someone somewhere has made a horrible, terrible mistake.

***

“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Scott?” he asked his best friend, Scott, over Skype later that night. He sat with his head in his hands, fingers drumming at his temples, staring at the screen in distress.

Scott meanwhile had the face of sympathetic amusement. Not quite grinning but even through the crappy webcam, Stiles could see the little crinkles of his eyes smizing at him and damn Tyra Banks for ever introducing that word into Stiles’ vocabulary. “Dude, call them up and say they made a mistake, but I’m telling you, they only accept three transfers a year to the boys school and they’ll already be filled.”

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, sitting back and going through the papers that had been in his acceptance packet. Stella Stilinski has a lot of shit to get ready before the school year. He scanned the class schedule they sent him, eyes landing on the last class.

Beginning Piano with D. Hale.

And his heart clenches and Stiles remembered why he even applied to begin with. But was it certain that D. Hale was Derek Hale? Derek Music-Prodigy Hale. Derek Jedi-Master-Of-All-String-Instruments Hale. Derek My-Music-Gives-Stiles-Boners Hale. Derek I-Haven’t-Made-Music-In-Four-Years-And-Pretty-Much-Disappeared-Off-The-Face-Of-The-Earth-Until-Now Hale.

“I’m eighty-eight percent certain,” Scott had said when telling Stiles who he thought he saw at his fancy new boarding school the year before.

“Does he have the eyebrows? Derek Hale has super distinct eyebrows. They’re like almost a unibrow, but not quite, and-” 

“Dude! Yes. Yes, he has those weird eyebrows you’re always going on about.” 

“I do not wax poetic about his eyebrows!” 

“You sort of do.” 

“…. Are you sure it’s him?” 

“eighty-eight percent certain.”

So that was it. An eighty-eight percent chance that Stiles could finally meet Derek Hale in the flesh and maybe… maybe convince him to play again? Or at least find out why the man stopped making music. This eighty-eight percent chance led Stiles to the website for Beacon Hills Academy for Boys and subsequently to their sister school’s website and now that he looked back on it, filling out school applications at three o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the smartest idea because there was more than an eighty-eight percent chance that he filled out the wrong application and well…. if that just wasn’t the smoothest move ever. Oops.

“Stiles. Earth to Stiles!” Scott was waving to him on his computer screen, trying to get his attention, frowning like a lost puppy when he saw he had Stiles’ full attention. “So what are you gonna do?”

Licking his lips, Stiles looked back down to the schedule and then turned his head to look around his room as if someone with all the answers would just magically appear behind him. He looked back, shrugging and reaching to set the schedule on his desk, knocking over a stack of DVDs in the process.

And, as if a sign from some higher diety, there was his answer. More like a calling really, and Stiles really, really hated it. He stared at the DVDs on his floor, all face down except for the one. She’s the Man.

“Fuck,” he groaned, because Stiles now knew exactly what he was going to do and the only foreseeable outcome was one with a lot of waxing and a lot of humiliation.

Amanda Bynes was the worst.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any recognizable characters belong to Jeff Davis. This fic isn't really supposed to be taken seriously. Any gender stereotype references are purely for fun not meant to be taken offensively. I write a lot of this at two in the morning.
> 
> \--
> 
> This chapter seems really long and not a whole lot happens. Oops. I swear to God, Derek is actually in the next chapter. I just needed to set up some basic stuff about the school and how Stiles makes himself in a lovely lady.

His transformation into the fairer sex wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Sure, Stiles had watched Ru Paul’s Drag Race during his bouts of insomnia where he’d sit in the living room flipping through the TV channels until he passed the infomercials and got to the good stuff. Like middle of the night marathons of past seasons of shows about drag queens or wannabe models being yelled at by Tyra Banks (“Be quiet Tiffany! BE QUIET!” he had once exclaimed in Scott’s general direction after one of these long nights. “STOP IT! I have never once in my life yelled at a girl like this! _Learn something from this!”_ Needless to say, Scott had been more confused than entertained.) But Stiles was in luck. Stiles had a secret weapon. A fairy God queen if you will, and her name was Wilma Fingerfit. In other words, Stiles was getting help on how to look like a teenage girl from a man he met at Jungle who dressed as a woman who had a name that could rival any classic Bond girl’s. How hard could that be?

Very. The answer was very hard. And not in the fun way.

There was just so much to remember. So many little details that went into being female. Makeup, hair, clothes... _underwear_. Stiles wasn’t too eager to find out where Young Hercules was supposed to go.

“Where who is supposed to go?” Wilma was asking. Not Wilma. Rueben was his real name, as Stiles had learned all of thirty minutes ago when he met Wilma/Rueben for the first time not in drag. 

“Young Hercules,” Stiles told him as though that answered everything. He flushed pink, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally said it aloud. “Thats what I call my dick... Sometimes he goes by Ryan Gosling...”

Rueben simply stared and laughed. “You’re weird,” he said, shaking his head and disappearing between racks of clothing. Stiles shifted from foot-to-foot, cradling a pile of clothing Rueben had thrust into his arms. Skirts, dresses, shirts, belts... scarves... What was he supposed to do with all this stuff? Stiles wasn’t exactly fashion savvy. He stuck to his staples: a hoodie layered over a plaid shirt layered over some sort of printed tee shirt. Sometimes he went really crazy and busted out a jacket. But with girls - at least according to the Cosmos and Seventeens and Teen Vogues he and Scott embarrassingly purchased the night before - there was a right way and a wrong way to wear something as silly as a scarf. There were even scarves for days when it wasn’t cold! What sort of sense did that make?!

After shopping (during which, Stiles made a considerable dent in his college fund) came the waxing. Oh God - the waxing. Stiles hadn’t felt so much physical pain before in his life. He also didn’t realize just how _hairy_ he was despite his inability to grow a sweet mustache. Armpits, arms, legs... literally every inch below the neck where Stiles had once hair was waxed and his skin was smooth as a baby’s bottom and tingling.

“Please don’t grow back,” he begged his now nonexistent body hair, grabbing his shin. “I can’t go through that again. Please little guys just stay away for all of our sakes.”

Rueben then promptly handed him a razor and a bottle of Nair.

  
***

The morning before their first day of school, it was time for the big reveal. Scott and Stiles would be driving together as the Beacon Hills Academies were only separated by a street and both their parents had work. The Sheriff was also under the impression that Stiles would be going to the Boys’ school and not the opposite. That was one awkward conversation Stiles would be more than to avoid.

Stiles woke up extra early that morning, stumbling through his morning grogginess to the kitchen. He took his Adderall, downing it with a glass of orange juice. His dad had already left for work, leaving Stiles a note wishing him luck and telling him to call. It made his stomach knot a little to be leaving his dad all alone for so long. It had only been five years since his mom died. In that time, Stiles and his father had relied on each other for so much. Stiles didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if something happened to his dad, especially while he was away at school. He wouldn’t even get to say to goodbye.

He shoved the note in his wallet, reminding himself to call his dad once he got all settled in his dorm room and hurried upstairs to get ready. This would be the first official time that Stiles would be putting on his entire disguise. Rueben had taught him each step, even helped him pick out a few outfits to wear when uniforms weren’t required. But Rueben couldn’t be there everyday to help Stiles lady-fy himself. He had to be a man and put on his make up by himself God damn it.

Easier said than done. He remembered the basics. Washing his face and putting on some moisturizer wasn’t anything new. Then there was face primer, followed by foundation. After that he was supposed to highlight and shade in certain parts of his face (he printed out a map from Google to help). According to Rueben, Stiles was fairly lucky that he had a baby face (it was a passive aggressive compliment if you asked for Stiles’ opinion) because there were less sharp features to soften and therefor less work. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure if that made sense, he had been mildly distracted by a commercial for the new Iron Man at the time. Now he wished he had listened when Rueben said not to use liquid eyeliner his first try. It was the only one the drug store had!

“Ow! Fuck!” he yelled, stabbing himself in the eye for the fifth time. His eyes were leaking tears, red with agitation and black from the eyeliner he was painting his eyeballs with. He rubbed at his eyes, effectively smudging the lines and the purple eyeshadow he had smudged on. “Great,” the teen groaned, catching his reflection. “I look like crack whore.”

A lot of wiping and eye stabbing and a brand new pair of contacts later (mascara was officially worse than eyeliner) and Stiles had sort of mastered the art of eye make up. Yeah, he’d definitely say so. It was a little of the heavy side, a bit of a Jack Sparrow sort of look maybe. Taylor Momsen would definitely approve of the look.  
Doing his hair came a lot easier. Stiles had been letting it grow out from his old buzz cut, usually allowing it to stick out in every direction. It had actually been his idea to mimic Mary Margaret’s hair-do from Once Upon a Time. It basically looked the way his hair did after wearing a hat all day. So he tamed it down with a bit of hair creme. Done and done. If only the mascara that was weighing down his eyelashes had been that easy.

Giving himself breasts had been a little tricky. He had actually gone bra shopping, surprising a few Victoria Secret’s employees when he came tumbling out of the dressing room, trying in vain to unlatch the hot pink, padded thing strapped around his chest. After lying to the sales girl, telling her that he was starring as Frank-n-Furter in a production of Rocky Horror, she helped him these silicone shells to stick in his bra. Everything else he taught himself about making cleavage had been taught to him by the Drag Goddesses on Youtube. A strip of medical tape pulled across his pecs created some semblance of cleavage. Then came the bra, then the shells. 

What was that saying about real estate? Location, location, location. Well, the same could easily be said about boobs. Putting on his boobs was like Goldilocks eating the Bears’ porridge and sitting in their chairs. The first time he taped too high and pinched his arm pits. When put on his dress, it looks like two domes jutting straight out from his collar bone. The second time, they were too far apart and when he put his arms down, he ended up squishing the shells. But the third time was just right. And if Stiles spent a good five minutes standing there, squeezing his them just because he could? Well that was between him and his boobs. 

The outfit of choice for his first unofficial day at Beacon Hills was simple. Rueben had helped Stiles spend his birthday money on a new wardrobe from the junior women’s section at Target. All flowy skirts and dresses, nothing too tight after Stiles fainted at Rueben’s description of ‘tucking’. It was, apparently, impolite to show off his bulge. Who knew? So today it was a lace fuchsia dress that hit above his knees. He grabbed his red hoodie, pulling that on quickly and shoved his feet into a pair of flat black ankle boots. The red hoodie he had chosen over the originally paired brown leather jacket, and he chose to forgo all the jewelry too, shoving both in his back pack before grabbing his suitcases and hurrying down stairs.

He stopped for curly fries on the way to Scott’s house, showing up a little later than planned but told himself that after the eyeliner fiasco of 2013, he fucking earned them. Scott was already waiting for him on his front steps with his own suitcases, and barked a laugh when Stiles got out of the car and came round to greet him.

“Dude, are you supposed to look like a raccoon?” Scott was asking, getting to his feet so he could better survey his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. When you have you put on eyeliner, we’ll see who’s cracking all the jokes,” he grouched, adjusting his bra. “Damn it, this thing itches.”

Stiles helped Scott throw his two duffle bags into the back of his jeep, receiving a boob honk of thanks. “Sexual harassment, much?” Stiles playfully smacked the back of his head once inside the jeep. Scott’s eyes widened and he looked worried.

“I didn’t mean it like that, dude!” 

“It’s fine,” Stiles shrugged, starting the jeep. “I did it for like ten minutes in my room.”

***  


The drive to Beacon Hills and the towns boarding schools was a four hour trip filled with junk food, arguing over the lack of a radio in the jeep (“When you have the money to buy me a stereo, then by all means, buy me a stereo!”) and hearing Scott gush more and more about the Allison he’d been obsessing over all summer. No further mention of Stiles’ eye make up or boobs came up in discussion which was wonderful because each time a comfortable silence fell between the two friends, Stiles felt the pit of nerves in his stomach getting heavier and heavier.

Beacon Hills Academy for Girls and it’s brother school, the Beacon Hills Academy for Boys were directly across the street from each other, taking up acres just outside the town of Beacon Hills. One could easily consider the schools to be one school rather than two. Through one set of main gates, the drive led to a parking lot for students of either school that had their own car, a faculty lot next to it. Further up the main drive was a drop off area in front of a three story brick building. This building held the majority of the administration classrooms for both schools, with the girls’ school operating out of the third floor and the boys’ out of the second. The ground level acted as a sort of reception and general conference area for faculty and future students visiting for a tour of one of the campuses.

Stiles parked his jeep in his assigned parking spot, remaining in the car as Scott got out. He could see dozens of hundreds of students flocking from their cars, parents and luggage in tow, and suddenly all of this seemed like a really terrible idea. There was no way he could actually pass as a girl let alone get close to enough to satisfy his pathetic celebrity crush on Derek Hale. Derek I’m-Going-To-Be-Your-Teacher Hale. Derek Of-Course-I-Don’t-Remember-Meeting-You-When-You-Were-Ten Hale.

“Hey Stiles?” His head snapped in the direction of Scott’s voice. He was met with worried puppy eyes through the rolled down window.

“I can’t do this,” he said as once. “I’m going home.”

“No you’re not. C’mon, how hard is going to be?”

“Really fucking hard, thats how hard! Oh my God, Scott, how could you let me do this?! You are a terrible human being. You are the worst. You are the Phantom Menace!”

He didn’t realize he was yelling, hyperventilating as the words spilled out of him in a tidal wave of incoherent insults and fears, even after Scott was yelling over him. The two carrying on a full conversation shouting over each other through the car window, gaining many a second glance from their soon-to-be peers.

“Get out of the car _Stella_! You’re gonna help me make Allison fall in love with me and then you’re going to learn how to be kick ass at piano and finish your fucking mission, dude, because you did not put on all that eye makeup and stuff your bra for no reason! Now be a man, grow a pair and act like a lady!”

“Oh my God, I’m never gonna be able to answer that! I can’t make Allison just fall in love with you, Scott! I’m not the Love Guru, okay? And there’s no way I’ll be able to play anything amazing like his music! Stop talking about it like I’m James Bond, God damn it! I’m Tootsie if anything! I wouldn’t say it’s a failed mission! Because now I know I can totally go and win RuPaul’s Drag Race or have a semi decent Halloween costume and I. Don’t. _Wanna!_ ”

Okay, so maybe he was starting to sound like a whining five year old, but Stiles didn’t care. He gasped for breath, letting his forehead fall against the steering wheel, hands going slack and landing on his lap. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

There was a comforting squeeze on his shoulder and Stiles turned his head to see Scott offering an encouraging smile. “Dude, it’ll be fine. Since when do your plans not work out?”

“Since always,” Stiles answered, but he was feeling better despite his words. He smirked, sitting up. “But hey, no one ever said Sti-.. Stella Stilinski wasn’t persistent, right? If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. Unless you’re sky diving which my dad would never let me do.”

Scott laughed, ruffling his hair before climbing back out of the jeep. “Thats the asshole I love so much,” he was saying. Stiles followed suit, opening up the trunk and grabbing his backpack first, slinging it over his shoulders, his crosse safely hooked through. 

An honest to God porsche pulled into the parking lot, parking right next to the jeep and Stiles felt himself drooling a little as he ogled the car. The driver slid out of the car with the kind of arrogant grace that Stiles could only ever hope to have. Dirty blonde hair perfectly coifed and designer sunglasses on his face. He looked like an Abercrombie model. The boner Stiles was having over the guy’s car was quickly killed at the disgusted look he gave the jeep as he took off his sunglasses in one quick move, his blue eyes flickering from the jeep to Stiles and Scott.

“McCall,” he begrudgingly acknowledged them. Stiles quickly looked away and straightened his skirt when the guy looked at him, giving him the classic elevator look of judging and snorting. “Your girlfriend?” His tone was mocking, but the guy was already walking away. 

“Jackson,” Scott muttered his own greeting, saying nothing more. Stiles however awkwardly waved after the guy. 

“Nice to meet you too,” he called, making sure to raise his voice an octave.

They shrugged their bags over their shoulders and began the walk for the main campus, eventually splitting up to find their prospective dormitories.

There were three dormitory buildings at the school, though Stiles thought they sounded more like sororities than anything. He was in the Alpha Beta Omega building, which was the furthest from the administration building and the classrooms, but also the closest to the lake according to the trusty hand drawn campus map he was given along with his dorm assignment and keys. Most of the girls ( _other girls_ he reminded himself. If this was gonna be believable, he had to really invest and think like he was a girl. Right? Right. He thought he saw an undercover cop talking about that on Criminal Minds or SVU or one of those other cop shows he loved) had their parents with them carrying suitcases and duffle bags. It looked like a few had decided to bring their entire closet from home with the amount they were trying to drag behind them. Stiles fell in step behind a few girls who, like him, had been more practical and seemed to know where they were going.

The dormitory was another brick building, two stories with twenty-nine windows and a big white door. His dorm room was number 213. It was a simple room; containing a twin sized bed with a headboard that double as a bookshelf on either wall, two dressers, two desks and a door leading to the bathroom they shared with their neighbors and another that opened to a small closet. He was somewhat relieved to see that his roommate hadn’t arrived yet, both beds naked of sheets and bookshelves empty. Quickly, Stiles threw his bag onto the bed nearest the bathroom, strategically placing himself there incase of emergency masturbation sessions or if he’d have to wake up an hour early to get himself ready.

He stashed hurried to unpack his briefs, medical tape and extra boob shells, shoving them all into the back of one of his dresser drawers and stuffing the rest of his clothes in front of them. Then he set about making his bed with his Batman sheets, the only thing other than books he didn’t have to buy for this horrible plan. He was just tossing his pillow onto the bed when his doors opened, the guy - Jackson - from the parking lot dragging in two suitcases, another, taller and tanner guy following. Stiles stumbled back into his bed.

“Uhm...” he quickly shut his mouth and closed his legs, looking at the two boys in confusion before a girl’s voice came from the door way. 

“Jackson, if you scuff my new Louis Vuitton suitcase, we are not going to Homecoming together.”

Stiles looked over, swallowing at the sight of a beautiful, petite red head standing in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other absently twirling a strand of hair around one finger. Round, but sharply intimidating, eyes flashed in his direction and for a second Stiles saw a certain uncertainty on the girl’s face before her perfectly composed and in control facade fell back into place.

“You’re not Allison,” she said flatly, scrutinizing him and suddenly Stiles felt impossibly small and ridiculous despite being a good few inches taller than her.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head and awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his skirt, suddenly aware of how much of a caricature he must have looked. “No, uh... I’m Sti-eeeeeella. Stella. Uhm... Stilinski. Stella Stilinski is my name and this is my room...”

He heard one of the two boys snort and looked over to see Jackson rolling his eyes. Awkwardly, Stiles stood and gave the three of them a little wave. “Sorry to uh.. not be Allison?” Smooth.

The girl pursed her eyes, looking him over again and when Stiles met her eyes, he swear she was looking right through his disguise and soon enough he’d be packing up and making a humiliating exit. “I’m Lydia,” she said, breezing past him to perch on the opposite twin bed. She waved a perfectly manicured hand towards Jackson and the other guy. “This is Jackson and Danny. They were just leaving.”

The boy named Danny smiled, giving Stiles a little nod. “We’ll see you around, Stella,” he said, steering Jackson out of the room. Stiles watched them leave, sighing when the door clicked closed. When he turned back to Lydia, she was starting to unpack one of her bags, carefully hanging up her clothes in the empty closet.

“Your sheets are atrocious,” she said simply, tossing Stiles a look over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, this weekend we can go into town and get you some that match mine. I am not having another Erica fiasco. What is that? You know we don’t have a girls lacrosse team, right?

She was pointing at his backpack, well his crosse laying on top of his backpack, an eyebrow raised. Stiles wanted to argue that his sheets were awesome but something about Lydia told him that he just shouldn’t argue with her. Five minutes and already Stiles was terrified of his roommate. Great. “Yeah, I knew that I just...” He licked his lips, trying to come up with an excuse. He really only brought the stick so his dad wouldn’t try to bring it to him at school. “I play with my-my brother and my friend Scott sometimes so.. Yeah..”

“You have a brother?”

Oh fuck. “Yes,” Stiles replied quickly, nodding with maybe too much determination. “A twin brother. His name’s Stiles. He’s my twin. Brother. Fraternal, obviously because I do not have a penis. Nope. All woman here.”

“Wait. You and your brother are named.. Stiles and Stella Stilinski?” Lydia was obviously amused and Stiles was hearing for the first time how very very stupid all of this was sounding. “Interesting choice of names.”

Stiles said nothing, inwardly groaning and collapsing back on his bed, hiding his grimacing face in his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Past Lives" by Ke$ha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry, sorry!” the girl exclaimed breathlessly. “This school is really big and confusing and this guy sold me a map and elevator pass but he didn’t have any change so I had to go all the way back to my dorm and then Lydia wouldn’t let me in and ugh, am I right?”
> 
> Dead silence followed. The class seemed just as perplexed as Derek though he liked to believe that he hid it better.
> 
> “Stilinski?” he inquired, raising a brow.
> 
> The girl exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Uh.. St-stella. Thats me.” She was smiling and giving little waves to the rest of the class. “Hi. Hey... Oh cool notebook! I love Doctor-”
> 
> “You’re late,” Derek cut her off. Big brown eyes turned to stare at him. “And we don’t have an elevator at this school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this took a lot longer than I expected. Whoops. Thank you guys for reading my goofy little fic and for all the nice comments! This chapter is my first time ever writing for Derek and is unbeta'd so if you see any major grammar, spelling, ect. mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix them!

Derek woke up on the first day of the school year with aching hands, fingers twitching from built up tension. A pain that he could do nothing about aside from waiting for it to pass. Fists clenched and unclenched, slowly in struggle and he ignored the way the tendons and muscles pulled and the feeling of his bones grinding together. It was especially bad this time of year. When the foggy heat of summer slowly turned into the wet cold of the rainy fall which would change into the frigid cold of winter and it was at that time that Derek’s hands grew so sore and ached so bad he couldn’t hold a pen or button his own shirt. The embarrassment and shame of not being able to perform such little things made him feel helpless and frustrated. His sister, Laura, told him that it’d be okay. That he just had to keep up with the physical therapy. But every day that Derek’s failed him, he felt further and further from his music.

If he couldn’t play, what did he have? If he couldn’t feel the smooth ivories, or the sharp cutting of wire strings on a cello under his fingers tips, and create music, Derek was lost.

He was, as they had said, special. At two years old he first climbed onto his father’s lap and watched the man playing the piano in the living room. He reached out with little hands and copied the simple melody, giggling with delight that he did that. That he made the pretty sounds. His father started teaching him the amateur piano that he knew, but it soon became apparent that Derek was much capable of much more than playing ‘Heart and Soul’.

It was his private music teacher, Miss Johnston that first put a word it to. Prodigious. Through her, Derek was introduced to classical composers like Mozart and Bach but also to contemporary orchestration like soundtracks by Hans Zimmer or the choral and wind symphonic master pieces of Eric Whitacre. She introduced him to his second love, the cello and showed him how to play guitar. She challenged him, encouraged him to spread his talents and pick up instruments he’d never even seen before.

Music, creating music, became his life. He’d always been a quiet child, shy and never good with words. Music was his way to communicate. He’d write songs about the ice cream cake they had for Laura’s twelfth birthday or a dead mouse that the family cat left on the door step. He heard it everywhere. There was music in his mother loading the dishwasher, or in the wind that ran through the woods surrounding the house. His cousins and sister laughing as they jumped into the lake out back were the piping notes of flutes. The turning of a page in a book was a brush on a snare drum.

But now, the sound of the coffee machine’s automatic start was just that. His shower just running water. He hadn’t even so much as hummed to the music in his head. For four years, everything was just what it was. 

There wasn’t any music any more.

He was standing in the kitchen, towel around his waist, hair still wet from his shower, grasping his coffee mug with two hands when Laura came in from her room, already dressed and ready to go. While Derek certainly didn’t share his sister’s passion for teaching, he understood it. Laura had always been good with kids. The oldest out of all their cousins, she was a natural leader and teacher. That wasn’t to say that Laura was all butterflies and giving out cookies. Oh no, Laura was evil and Derek was all too aware of this.

“Good morning, little brother,” she greeted cheerfully, tying up her dark hair in a long, sleek pony tail. “Oh thank God, coffee’s done! First day of classes, baby bro, you ready?”

Derek grunted in reply, looking down at his coffee and brushing past her to return to his bedroom. He hated teaching. God, how he hated teaching. Teenagers never stopped talking. Or texting. Or sexting. And the questions. Good Lord, the questions. Whoever said there was no such as a stupid question was an idiot and clearly had never tried to teach piano to a bunch of spoiled teenagers. One of his students the previous year couldn’t even spell ‘piano’ much less have any hope at playing one.

It wasn’t that he didn’t try. Derek had tried at first, when he was still in denial and telling himself that the teaching thing was only temporary, that soon his hangs would be playing again and he’d hear the music and write an opera in celebration. 

He took his time getting dressed, Laura’s impatient knocking on his door starting just as he was pulling on a pair of black slacks. Laura buttoned his dress shirt and tied his neck tie as her fingers worked fasted and Derek had a tendency to miss a button and leave them all askew. In his defense, however, he couldn’t tie a tie before his hands stopped working so that wasn’t anything new.

“Peter wants to have lunch with us,” Laura informed him in the car, checking her lip gloss in the rear view mirror. “Y’know, annual start of term Hale family bonding time. Not like we didn’t see him a week ago or anything.”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. Their Uncle Peter was Head Master of Beacon Hills Academy for Boys and if it wasn’t for him and Laura, Derek would be hiding in a dark apartment in Manhattan enjoying his self pity and having a merry time wallowing in grief and depression instead of waking up every morning and productively doing a job he hated. His uncle was always insisting that the three of them spend quality time together, reminding them that they were the only people left in their family. That they needed to stick together no matter what.

When Laura spoke again, she was hesitant and glancing warily at him. “I was thinking... I have this friend, and she’s really nice. She’s in med school and she’s cute and funny and single...”

“No.” Derek clenched his jaw, turning his head to look out the window. Laura was always trying to set him up on dates and stepping up as the wing woman he didn’t ask for or even want. Derek didn’t do dating, or relationships. He tried that and it destroyed his life. It took everything away from him.

There was a time when the two loves of Derek’s life had been music and Kate Argent. She was beautiful, smart and made him feel like he was on top of the world. It was her musicality that drew him in. A violinist, Kate was elegance and passion and Derek was a love sick little puppy pining for her. They were introduced by Miss Johnston, who had been Kate’s teacher for a short time.

Their love affair was heated, the sort of thing only read about in novels with Fabio on the cover and for a little while, they were the royal couple of the symphonic circle. But Kate grew possessive. It started with constant texts asking where he was and then her showing up at that location. She’d throw fits if Derek had plans to see his friends and even his family.

Looking back on it, Derek could easily spot the warning signs. He would have called off their relationship and looked for help. But he was young, just barely seventeen and she made him feel alive in ways only music could before her. They were on a date when the fire happened. Celebrating their first year anniversary. In the middle of dinner, Derek got a call from Laura. She was in hysterics, telling him he needed to get home right away, that there had been a fire.

He and Kate arrived just as his Uncle Peter was being carried out on a stretcher. Behind him, paramedics and firemen were carrying black body bag after black body bag out of the house. Derek counted eleven. Eleven members of his family dead.

Kate had been the one to hold him. The one to tell him that it’d be okay. That _she_ was there for him. That no one loved him like _she_ did. That _she_ was the one he could turn to.

It wasn’t for another four years that Derek learned what _she_ had done. What _she_ was capable of.

He grunted a response and didn’t talk for the rest of the car ride. In his head, he could hear Peter comparing him to an eight year old throwing a passive aggressive tantrum. He was an adult and if he wanted to act like a petulant child because his sister was messing with his life, than he could. Laura seemed to have taken the hint anyway and turned the radio on for the rest of the drive.

***

Derek taught exactly six classes; beginning piano, intermediate piano, advanced piano, the beginning concert choir, and two music theory classes. All co-ed as he only taught elective classes. His schedule wasn’t busy. He liked to keep it that way.

His first class for the day was beginning piano. Only his second least favorite. The beginning classes were always a pain. Students asked the most obvious questions, and God how he couldn’t stand to hear the tone deaf singers in his choral class or the kids who thought the proper way to play a piano was by hitting the keys as hard as humanly possible. He often ended his beginning classes needing a good strong scotch. If only he could be that lucky.

His students all tended to blur together. Teenagers, Derek realized in his short time teaching, all looked the same. Even worse when they all wore uniforms. They all had the same hair cuts, and the same attitudes. They even spoke exactly the same. So he didn’t bother to scan the new lot as he came into the class room. The room was set up with three rows of long tables, each table holding five keyboards. When he entered, they were all plucking random keys, messing with the settings to change the sound of the instruments and at least three of them were playing Heart and Soul. He visibly cringed.

“Turn off your keyboards,” Derek said firmly, standing at the front of the room. He couldn’t deny feeling a little smug at the way the room fell instantly silent.

He set his briefcase down, fumbling for a moment to unlatch the damned thing and take out his attendance sheet and started calling out names. Each student replied with a simple ‘here’ or ‘present’ as Derek checked their names.

“Stilinski.”

Nothing.

Derek rose a brow, glancing up. His students looked between themselves, clearly the name wasn’t familiar.

“Stilinski,” he repeated, vaguely aware that he already must have sounded like the economics teacher in Ferris Bueller.

As if on cue, the door swung open and shut in a blur. Derek scowled at the mess of limbs scrambling for the nearest empty keyboard - the one dead center in the front row. “Sorry, sorry!” the girl exclaimed breathlessly. “This school is really big and confusing and this guy sold me a map and elevator pass but he didn’t have any change so I had to go all the way back to my dorm and then Lydia wouldn’t let me in and ugh, am I right?”

Dead silence followed. The class seemed just as perplexed as Derek though he liked to believe that he hid it better.

“Stilinski?” he inquired, raising a brow.

The girl exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Uh.. St-stella. Thats me.” She was smiling and giving little waves to the rest of the class. “Hi. Hey... Oh cool notebook! I love Doctor-”

“You’re late,” Derek cut her off. Big brown eyes turned to stare at him. “And we don’t have an elevator at this school.”

There was a small chorus of snickering from a few students and Stilinski - sorry, _Stella_ \- closed her mouth quickly and ducked her head. Derek walked up and down the rows, passing out syllabus packets. “These packets have everything you need to know about the class. Read through them and save any questions for the end.”

A hand in the front row shot up. Derek winced.

“Yes, Miss Stilinski?”

“Will you play something for us?” the girl asked hopefully, grinning widely. Derek turned his head to survey the class. The rest of his students were giving him curious looks and he could tell that they were also hoping for a show, though Stella was clearly the most hopeful. Derek knew her type. She was late, yeah, but she was clearly a suck up. The type of girl who tried to get in the good graces of all her teachers to put attention on herself. No doubt, if Derek gave into her request, she’d go bragging about being the one with the idea. If Derek could give into her request.

There were students like this every year, in every class. They always asked for a demonstration. Always wanted to hear a song. Derek always shot them down instantly with no excuse why. Most of his students didn’t know who he was, which was a relief.

“No,” he answered, looking back to her.

“But-” she started, sinking into her chair when Derek shot her down with another denial.

He returned to the front of the class room after passing out the last packet and sat at his desk. The students fell into silence, save for occasional rustling of papers. The first half of class passed in peace.

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._

God damn it.

Gritting his teeth, Derek looked up towards his students. Stella Stilinski was staring in deep concentration at the keyboard in front her while everyone else continued reading. Her lower lip was sucked into her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as one long finger plucked an A key over and over and over again.

Derek cleared his throat, sitting up in his chair. This girl was going to be a problem. “Stella.”

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._ The girl didn’t look up. It was as if he was talking to another student, not the one insistently plunking away at the same note over and over again while the rest sat in silence.

“Stella,” he repeated, even dragging out the last syllable for added emphasis.

_Plunkplunkplunkplunkplunk_

His temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache. Derek huffed a moment, closing his eyes tightly to keep himself from throwing the nearest object. He doubted the school board would approve of him bludgeoning his new student. “Miss Stilinski!”

That got the girl’s attention. She looked up, blinking innocently. “Yeah?” Derek cocked a brow, unimpressed. Had she not heard him the first two times? Other students were looking up from their packets and glancing between them. He saw the girl behind Stella, a blonde named Erica Reyes, smirking and leaning back in her chair, ready for a show.

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, already completely over this school year. “Don’t you have reading to do.” It wasn’t a question. He knew the answer. The answer was yes.

“I already finished,” Stella answered at once with a shrug. “Twice.”

“It’s a ten page packet.” Derek mentally cringed at the surprise in his voice. He purposefully stuffed the syllabus so he wouldn’t have to do anything on the first day of classes. Most of it was just bullshit and repeating the same thing. There was a short pretest in the back on music theory and history, to see where most of his students were at in those terms but even that was nothing more than to put on the semblance that he cared. Who was he kidding? Derek hadn’t bothered to change his teaching plans and wouldn’t just to better suit his classes. He didn’t want to.

Stella just shrugged again and plucked at the damn A key. Derek kind of wanted to tear it off the keyboard. It wasn’t even a C. Everyone always abused the C. “I’m a fast reader,” his student weakly challenged, flashing a cheeky grin.

He let out a long exhale, glancing up at the rest of the class, half of whom were incredibly amused the other half not sure if they should join the amusement or pretend not to be there. His head ached. Stella Stilinski was going to be the headache of his life and he’d only known the girl for thirty minutes. “Just... read it until the end of class.”

Stella opened her mouth to argue but quickly shut it again and Derek was thankful for that. The rest of the class went on in silence till the bell rang and his students dropped off their practice quizzes on their way out.

All but Stella Stilinski.

The girl waited till each and every one of her peers left the room, not even standing up from her seat. The whole time, Derek felt her eyes on him, could hear the jittery rhythm her fingers drummed out on the table top. Derek tried to ignore it, he really did, even starting to straighten up the messy pile of papers on his desk.

“I know who are,” Stella blurted out, making Derek glance her way. She was staring at him still, eyes wide and the color of whiskey. He didn’t respond, just glared and looked back at the papers and hoped that his student would leave the damn classroom. 

“When I was ten, my-my mom took me to see your orchestra.” Derek glanced up again, watching as the girl stood up from her chair and came around the other side, approaching the desk. It was then that he got a good look at her. She was tall, practically his height, and all limbs and angles. Her hair was short, reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. Someone must have told her that circling your eyes with sharpie was the thing to do because Derek had never even noticed a girl’s eye make up let alone seen so much kohl on a girl’s face. But her lips... Derek couldn’t help but follow the movement of Stella licking her lips when she came to a stop in front of him. “It was the most awesome thing in the world.”

Awesome. The first student of Derek’s to recognize him and she just called his music _awesome_. It was... well Derek wasn’t sure what it was. He couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or flattered or insulted or too distracted by those damn lips and how wrong it was that he was even noticing his _student’s_ mouth to care what adjective she used.

He narrowed his eyes, eyebrows meeting in the middle as he suddenly tried to dissect his own thoughts and pin point a proper reaction. Meanwhile, Stella continued speaking.

“She played cello. My mom I mean, she played cello. She was really amazing. Like the Meryl Streep of cello. At least, I thought she was. And she loved your music. I think she had a little cougar crush on you which okay, awkward, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, I take it back. She never had a cougar cru-”

“What do you want, Miss Stilinski?” Derek interrupted, the headache from before starting to return.

“Oh. R-right. Uhm... so the syllabus said there was a big recital at the end of the year? For your best students and I.. well, I wanted to let you know that I want to be in it. I’m going to be in it and I wanted to ask if you did any private tutoring?”

“I don’t do private lessons.” Derek only tutored one student, but Isaac Lahey was a special case. And besides, “Beginning students are never in the recital.” He gave her a court nod, looking down at the papers in his hand just to have an excuse to end the conversation.

Stella, however, was having none of that. Oh yes, this girl would be a big headache. “Well I’m gonna be in it, whether you like it or not,” she challenged, which honestly took Derek by surprise. He looked up again, quickly scowling at her.

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for your next class.”  
He rose both eyebrows, watching as Stella looked towards the clock. “Oh fuck!” the girl spat, flailing as she ran out the door. Derek couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. Something about the determined look on her face, the smirk she had when Derek looked up in surprise at her challenge...

Five minutes later, he caught himself humming as his next class filed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title still from Past Lives by Ke$ha [I'm gonna say that the $ is mandatory but also a little douchey]. I don't own Teen Wolf and if I did, there'd be a lot more Sterek and a lot of cats. If you want, you can follow me on my [Tumblr](always-fucking-dancing.tumblr.com). I'm not on it very much but I'm working on it! Thanks for reading guys!!

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Past Lives" by Kesha ( is the $ mandatory in that?) and mucho mucho thanks to my habibi, Heidi for helping me and listening to my rambles.


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